Poems in the Car

I imagine you waiting
in a parking lot for something to happen
for the signal to go, go, go and
you reach down for your phone
mentally spin out off the road 
read a poem by Simon

I imagine your blond head bent
in concentration, trying to find 
something to report as you anticipate
a familiar occurrence appearing 
above the horizon of your dashboard
meanwhile Simon’s slow words, 
searching fingers tips, enter your sightline
and explain to you it already happened
sometime ago and you are free


Give me a bottom I want to say
a motherfucking smack the fanny
nectar bleeding pimpled dumpling
doughy dog-haired bruised apple
gooey cheesy pink crackly frosty
yes, the best one on the menu
what I am yakking about here and
hey the futurette is not looking too good, 
in a glass.